


SuperMoon

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drinking, M/M, just for fun, rovinsky, two dreamers having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: The Ferrari was a thing of beauty, all gorgeous curves and sleek lines. The paint job was custom: the oozing black rainbow sheen of an oil slick. Bathed in the shifting colors of the traffic signal it looked unreal, a phantom car. The driver revved the engine and even that was a different sound, high-pitched squeals like a thousand demons begging for a soul.“Get in, bitch. We’re going shopping.” Kavinsky leaned out the driver’s side window, rings flashing on his fingers, gold chains glinting around his neck.“Don’t call me bitch, asshole,” Ronan growled. But he smiling. He ran his fingers across the hood of the car and – because he knew it would piss off Kavinsky – took a leap and slid across the hood to the passenger side. The car was just as slick as it looked.





	SuperMoon

The Ferrari was a thing of beauty, all gorgeous curves and sleek lines. The paint job was custom: the oozing black rainbow sheen of an oil slick. Bathed in the shifting colors of the traffic signal it looked unreal, a phantom car. The driver revved the engine and even that was a different sound, high-pitched squeals like a thousand demons begging for a soul.

“Get in, bitch. We’re going shopping.” Kavinsky leaned out the driver’s side window, rings flashing on his fingers, gold chains glinting around his neck.

“Don’t call me bitch, asshole,” Ronan growled. But he smiling. He ran his fingers across the hood of the car and – because he knew it would piss off Kavinsky – took a leap and slid across the hood to the passenger side. The car was just as slick as it looked.

“Hey man!” Kavinsky yelled. “Watch the paint! This is brand new dream machine, Lynch, not like your old man’s 19-whatever BMW.”

Ronan threw himself into the seat and sneered at Kavinsky.

“Get bent,” Ronan answered. He pushed the seat all the way back and propped his boots up on the spotless dash, making dirty scuff marks. “What happened to the Evo?”

Kavinsky swore under his breath and accelerated hard, the tires screaming as the Ferrari shot forward. “It’s a special night. It requires a special car.”

“Special, huh?” Ronan leaned forward and messed with the music. No matter what channel he changed it to the radio only played the same song, something about gold and guns and girls. “Where are we going?”

“Dreamland,” Kavinsky cackled. “Like I said, shopping.”

“You mean thieving.”

Kavinsky shrugged. The car sped through the night, past the dark businesses downtown, past the sleepy houses and fields, towards the outskirts and the abandoned fair grounds. Ronan gave up on the music and Kavinsky passed him a flask. Whatever was inside tasted like menthol and burned all the way down. Ronan coughed and took another swallow. It was better the second time around.

The night was cold and crisp and clear. The stars were a dazzling map against the dark sky but their light was dimmed by the enormous yellow moon hanging above the mountains. Ronan took another swallow of the alcohol, feeling it warm him from the inside out. This must be how K was able to be out in the cold with only his flimsy wifebeater and jeans.

“Here, gimme,” Kavinsky demanded, reaching for the flask. Ronan passed it over and watched as Kavinsky emptied it into his mouth and tossed it into the back seat. “Don’t look so down, Lynch, got more where that came from.”

The fair grounds were deserted when they arrived but there was evidence of past bacchanalias: cups and cans, wrappers and burned out cars, even some discarded items of clothing. Kavinsky drifted across the dirt racing track, the car barely under his control. They stopped by the fire pit and Kavinsky jettisoned out of the car, arms spread wide with manic energy and excitement.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he sang out. He grabbed a bottle and rag from the backseat and tossed them to Ronan. “If you would do the honors.”

Ronan smirked. K had a thing for Molotov cocktails.

The fire pit was still full of burnable things and the pile ignited instantly after its introduction with the bomb in a bottle.

Kavinsky stood close to the multicolored flames, looking beautiful and eerie and demonic. He was drinking from a bottle, a joint held between his fingers.

“Hey, Greywaren,” he said the name like it was a joke but also like he meant it as a kind of affection, “bring the stuff from the back. We’re gonna have a fucking moon viewing party.”

Ronan grabbed the bag from the backseat and stalked over to where K was sitting. He liked towering over him, liked having K tilt his head all the way back to meet his eyes.

“I thought we were shopping.”

Kavinsky patted the dirt next to him. “Drinks first. Shopping later. Isn’t that how rich bitches do things?”

Ronan scoffed and sat down. “I wouldn’t know. Ask your mother.”

“Oh!!!!” Kavinsky laughed. “Shots fired! A mama joke… I knew you had it in you, man.”

Ronan ducked his head and started pulling things out of the bag. Improbably there was a bucket of ice, a bottle of plum sake, and two glasses.

“You’re really branching out tonight,” Ronan commented while Kavinsky scooped some ice in his glass and poured a liberal amount of sake.

“ ‘s the moon,” Kavinsky slurred. “The Super Moon, man. And I heard that people do this thing in Japan where they drink and watch the moon…”

“Well.” Ronan was a little taken aback. “That’s awfully… romantic.”

“Fuck you, Lynch.” Kavinsky drank half the glass and crunched on some ice. His dark eyes narrowed in a way that was both sexy and alarming. Kavinsky leaned towards him, his bare shoulder brushing against Ronan’s leather jacket, and Ronan found himself leaning in, too. Kavinsky’s lips were cold against Ronan’s, making him gasp from the shock of it. Then K’s hand was on the back of his neck, fingers digging into his skin and they were kissing, freezing ice slipping from Kavinsky’s mouth into his, the sweet taste of plum on K’s tongue. Ronan shivered and tugged at Kavinsky’s gold chains, hauling him into his lap.

“Did you know?” K huffed out between kisses. “That this is Frost Moon?” The ice had long since melted and Ronan was too hot to even remember its chill. He kissed Kavinsky’s throat and slid his hands under his top, pressing his palms to bare skin. The glint in Kavinsky’s eyes was wicked. “Also known as the Hunter’s Moon.”

“What are we hunting?” Ronan asked.

Kavinsky tugged off Ronan’s leather jacket and pushed Ronan down into the dirt. “We?” His voice was dark and teasing. “There’s no we. _I’m_ the Hunter. And what does that make you, Ronan Lynch?”

Ronan gave K his nastiest grin and gripped his hips hard. “Really fucking horny.”

The fair grounds echoed with the sound of Kavinsky’s laugh and only the moon was witness to everything that happened that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I learned a lot of cool stuff about super moons and, while tonight’s moon was not quite a super moon it is the Beaver Moon aka the Frost Moon aka the Hunter’s Moon. I was driving tonight (about 3 hours) and that always gets me in a Ronan/K mood so here we are.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @dkafterdark


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